


Gold Sheen Obsidian

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Homophobia, Internalized Biphobia, M/M, Miscommunication, Political Marriage, They both have depression, but templar soldiers were given lyrium as a means to control them, cassandra as advisor to the king, cullen has ptsd, cullen is 20, cullen is a soldier from ferelden, cullen isn't a templar, cullen sucks at emotions, dorian has anxiety, dorian is 16, dorian is a prince, dorian is overly emotional, ferelden templars have been at war with tevinter mages, iron bull as head of security, josephine is a curator and writer for the kingdom's records, no slavery anymore, sera is a hand maiden, solas is a war leader, the pavus family has a kingdom in tevinter, there is racism against elves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-03 05:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6597991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To establish peace between Tevinter Mages and Fereldan Templars, a marriage within the royal household of Pavus is arranged. Cullen knows nothing of how life works within the kingdom. Dorian doesn't know how to act around the magic-wary soldier. Dorian and Cullen have a rough beginning and a gradual descent into married life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beauty, Sustenance, and Shelter.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr!  
> http://gold-sheen-obsidian.tumblr.com/

Dorian generally tried to avoid conflict within the Pavus Castle, especially in the morning, as his head usually ached and his stomach already churned from the previous night's consumption of inebriating drinks. As it was, his parents and whatever relatives or guests were in dined in the breakfast hall just past dawn. Dorian, however, usually ate in peace, alone, in the veranda near the gardens, with the bees and birds as his company.

Since his solitary morning meal was the norm, exiting the cold stone of the castle into the warm breeze outside, only to find his father sitting at his little table, was a most unpleasant surprise. Dorian, steeled his nerves and carried his plate of fruits and bread to the table, sitting opposite of his father, and cradling his hot tea to his chest, no longer hungry.

"Good morning, my son." Dorian squinted in suspicion at the man, who nowadays was hard-pressed to claim his patronage to Dorian, after declaring him a disgrace and nearly disowning him, if not for his mother's objection.

"Morning... What is it I can help you with, Father?" Dorian's father sighed and leaned towards his son, only to frown when the youngest Pavus cringed back into the chair.

"There's no need for that Dorian, I wish to talk with civility if you would so oblige me."

"Hah," Dorian scoffed but regarded his father for any hint of deception and found only nervousness and desperation. He gestured for his father to get on with it and took a sip of his tea, needing the caffeine to kick in if he were to properly deal with this conversation.

"We have a marriage proposal for you," Halward said in a rush, his voice marked with slight disgust.

Dorian choked and struggled not to spit up his tea, eyes bulging and watering as he stared in shock before it morphed to anger.

"Father! I have said before I will not marry any maiden regardless of how it may help the kingdom! You know this!" Dorian raged, setting his cup down roughly as his hands began to tremble.

"It... They are not a maiden," Halward said with a slight sneer, "You are aware that we have ended a brutal seven-month battle with the templars in the south. Well, now that that has ended, as both sides were greatly depleted in numbers and supplies, we are on rocky ground but one of their leaders has offered an alliance. If, and only if, someone of the royal family is wed to a one of their best soldiers."

"A soldier!" Dorian huffed out before his brows drew and he stared at his father fiercely. "If we are not compatible-"

"This is not a matter of compatibility, Dorian. This is a matter of no more affairs with staff and no more sneaking out to meet other boys only to be dragged back in the middle of the night by a guard who finds you. This alliance, it will grow our territory, our trade, it will be a great exchange, it will strengthen our weakness and strengthen theirs as well."

Dorian pursed his lips and looked out over the garden. His heart ached at the fading prospect of falling in love with another boy and living out his days in a happy, fond marriage. His head jerked back to face his father as he felt a large hand squeeze his knee. He met his father's eyes noting the tiredness drawing his face, aging him.

"Dorian, this... It is a respectable marriage," he looked pained to admit, "He is a fine young man, large on family values, an open mind."

"Have you met him?" Dorian asked quietly.

"Oh! No, but I have this for you." Halward handed over a package that had been in his lap, unnoticed previously by Dorian.

"He wrote a letter to your mother and me, but this is for you, likely a courting gift."

Dorian looked worried suddenly, "Do I need to send him a gift in return?"

Halward opened his mouth to respond then closed it to think on the question, "You can yes, but wait a while, he will have few days at home before heading here, it will reach him if you send it before five days time."

Dorian nodded, taking in everything and conversing within his head. He didn't notice Halward leave the veranda to return inside. His plate was soon attacked by the flies and one brave bird who flew off with his bread roll, startling the young prince from his thoughts. Gray eyes darted down to the package in his lap, a simple cream linen cloth, tied together with rough leather cord.

Carefully, he untied the cord and peeled back the fabric, revealing several items within. The first that caught his eye in the package was another object wrapped in linen, though only around the size of his thumbnail. He plucked it from the rest and squeezed it, the object hard and unforgiving between the flesh of his fingertips. Slipping it out from its cover, he was awed at the gorgeous stone, in a simple silver setting, an orb of black that appeared to absorb all light, but with the slightest tilt revealed a million flecks of glinting gold.

Dorian, in all his fascination with stones and jewelry, had never come across something so fascinating. He spent a fair amount of time marveling at the ring, turning it every which way until he was dizzy from the depth that seemed to exist within the stone.

He took care to see which finger the ring fit best on, before settling on the base of his middle finger, on his right hand. The ring was an ever-present distraction from there on out, both the sight of it and the weight. Dorian painfully tore his gaze away to explore the rest of the package, there was a sachet of something that looked like leaves, dried and a mix of colors. He brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply, sighing pleasantly at the sweet, rich smell, something between the highest quality chocolate and the freshest peeled citrus.

Setting it aside, under the assumption it was tea, and hoping it was made without stripweed, he moved on to the a soft bundle at the bottom. Pulling it up, he realized it was a scarf, of deep burgundy, with tasseled ends, and made of soft wool. It was nearing the end of summer, and the scarf would be wonderful to warm his often bare neck, thick and plush. He loosely draped it over his shoulders, so it wouldn't stifle him in the current warmth.

There was one thing left in the package, the letter. Dorian belatedly worried that he opened the parcel upside down and was meant to read the letter first. Tossing the worry aside, it was too late now, he broke the wax and unfolded the parchment, a pleased sound leaving him at the strong, woodsy smell coming from the paper.

_My Betrothed,_  
_I've learned from your mother of your allergy to stripweed, so I found a tea made without it. She also informed me you favored dark colors, I found the ring during our travels, it was half buried, but the stone was reflecting, and just clean enough to see since it had previously rained. The scarf was suggested by my sister, as we saw it in a local shop, and she mentioned it would complement your eyes, which I've been told are a most unusual gray. I hope you like these things._  
_I will meet you soon,_  
_Cullen Rutherford_

Dorian stared blankly at the letter, either this man he was to marry had no emotions or was terrible at writing with them. The young prince hoped for the latter and placed the letter carefully back in the package before slipping the scarf off and folding it in, then placing the sachet inside, he folded it back together and clumsily retied the cord.

Standing, he gathered the miraculously empty plate and his now cooled tea. Dorian discarded both in the kitchens on his way up to his room, where he placed the parcel on his bedside table before unceremoniously flopping onto his bed. He knew nothing of the man, other than his father approved of him, which wasn't comforting, and that he smelled like vetiver and mahogany wood, and that those scents were strong enough to infuse in the paper he wrote on.

"Cullen," Dorian said the name softly aloud, blinking slowly at the canopy over his bed before rolling onto his stomach in frustration. What could he possibly gift in return, Cullen's gifts had thought and care and he had nothing, a name a scent, those were nothing, they didn't help.

Curiosity consumed him as he wondered what exactly did this Cullen look like? Would he be handsome? Would have a darker complexion, or light as what seemed to be common in the south? Was he a farm boy? Was his skin tanned and freckled, hair bleached from the sun?

Dorian brought his right hand to his face, the light from his window illuminating the ring as he swiveled his wrist. His hand fell heavily onto his chest as he let his arm go limp. He stretched his fingers so his palm was flat to his breast and he could feel the cool metal of the ring through the thin silk of his tunic.

Grumbling somewhat, he slid off the side of the bed his boots hitting the stone floor with a thud as he walked over to his desk, where a collection of things he found pretty accumulated. There were a few stones, some flowers he'd preserved with a neat spell that created a bubble around the object, with an osmosis-like air filter to keep the flowers fresh and alive.

We wondered if he could fashion one of the orbs into a wearable piece. Some were small enough that they would fit nicely at the base of someone's neck, between their collarbones.

If only he knew Cullen's complexion, or perhaps his favorite color. He had a variety of the preserved flowers, ranging from dainty white daisy-like things to spiny, vicious flowers that looked deadly to the touch.

He surveyed the collection before his eyes caught on a small, lone white freesia. Perfect, a symbol of devotion, not to overbearing, a simple, unassuming little thing.

He picked up the orb, a little smaller than a silver gold piece, and found a few broken chains from jewelry past that he never got around to mending.

Up in the air went the chains, glowing with heat as his fingers sparked with magic. The metal condensed to a nice round ball before a thin strand broke away, as fine as silk thread. With his other hand, Dorian sent the orb in the air and let the two touch, the metal melding with the glass-like bubble, wrapping around the bottom in a net-like fashion before finishing in four strands that connected at the top.

Dorian flew the orb around the room for awhile, until it was cool enough to handle, before he brought it up to inspect, running his finger over the smooth metal ridges spiraling around the sphere. He flounced over to his closet and looked for an old shirt, with a ribbon lacing at the neckline.

He smiled happily upon finding the desired shirt, then with haste slipped the ribbon out, weaving it through the metal faceting on the orb until it felt secure. He brought it to his own neck to see if it felt nice, and when it did, he nearly jumped out of his boots with elation at his success.

His glee was dampened when he realized it wasn't enough, compared to the gift's he received, sending back just this one measly necklace might imply that he wasn't appreciative, that might set up a tone that he'd never put as much into the relationship as Cullen already had.

So, the Pavus Prince laid the necklace gently on the bed and headed out of his room, down towards the kitchen, before bypassing it to the cellars. Shivering with the sudden chill, he suddenly yearned for his new scarf and wrapped his arms around himself.

Two stories down and twenty degrees colder he bounced from foot to foot in annoyance then cast a heating charm that blanketed his body with soothing heat. Dorian sighed happily and meandered through the shelves of jars and bottles, looking at things he assumed were pickled edibles of some kind but in this state, he couldn't differentiate them from jars of rot or dirt.

Coming upon the last row of shelves he grinned in triumph and plucked a bottle of fine mead, flavored with the licorice tasting leaves of one of the garden plants.

This should prove a good gift if the soldier drank mead that is. Dorian truly had little to work on, but he'd yet to meet a person who didn't at the very least like mead.

One more gift, and a letter, and then perhaps he would feel as though his parcel of gifts in return would be adequate. Dorian started the trek back up into the main house, gradually decreasing the warming charm as he got further from the chilly cellar, until he dropped the charm completely, and shook out his shoulders.

Now, he wondered, what could he give to match the value of the woolen scarf. He had a piece of jewelry for beauty, a fine drink for sustenance, and now something to be worn for shelter. Would Cullen wear a scarf? Or would it make him seem unoriginal to return a replica gift?

Boots, but he didn't know the soldier's size, gloves, coat, belts, hats, all the same problem.

"What about a cape?"

Dorian practically jumped out of his skin, fumbling not to drop the bottle.

"Maker's breath, Cole! You need a bell around you, you're too quiet."

The blonde spirit winced and looked apologetic, and worried, like always.

"I'm sorry, you, in contrast, fret very loudly." Cole tapped a finger to his surprisingly hat-free head.

"Hm," Dorian sighed before righting the bottle in his arms, starting to walk towards the exit of the castle. "Come, Cole, I do believe your idea will work."

\--------------------------------------------------------------

It took a fair few minutes of walking, but the pair eventually made it to the royal tailor's shop.

"Hello? Maura, are you in?" Dorian asked as he gently opened the door. Hearing a rustle behind a great stack of fabrics before Maura's kind eyes peeked over the mound.

"Ah! Your highness, how can I help you?" The widow asked as she came around to face them, patting down her skirt.

Dorian smiled fondly, "I'm in need of a cape, ma'am, preferably thick, and lined with fur."

Maura paused in looking over the fabric and curiously looked at the young prince, "Forgive me, your highness, but isn't it a little warm to be needing something so heavy?"

Dorian bit his lip and suddenly looked stumped, maybe it was too warm for a cape, but then again his scarf was rather too warm this early also.

Cole abruptly spoke up, "It's not for him, it's for his betrothed, a man he hardly knows. Prince Dorian wishes to provide shelter to the southerner, knowing it will be a colder winter than the Ferelden soldier is used to."

Maura boggled at the spirit, "Betrothed?! And this is the first I'm hearing of it? What of your wedding clothes, your highness? How long do I have?"

"Maura, please." Dorian watched Cole carefully as the spirit realized he'd made a mistake, looking shamefully at his boots. The prince sighed and rubbed his kohl-rimmed eyes before smiling softly at the spirit, and nudging him towards a row of glittering fasteners and buttons. Cole was thankful for the reprieve, if still bashful over his blunder.

Dorian smile tightened a bit towards Maura but relaxed when she looked just as ashamed as Cole.

"I only learned of the marriage this morning, and I haven't a date for the wedding yet so I can't exactly tell you, I can tell you I need the cape in less than three days time."

Maura blinked in surprise but slowly began to nod, "That should be possible yes, I don't many orders coming in at the moment since we are between seasons. What do you have in mind for the cape?"

Dorian grinned and approached the fabric mountain excitedly, running his fingers over the cloths, before his ring in plain sight caught his eye. He quirked an eyebrow and spun on his heel to face the tailor, lifting his hand and gesturing to the ring, "Do you have anything like this?"

\------------------------------------------------------------------------


	2. The Heir Pavus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me on Tumblr gold-sheen-obsidian.tumblr.com

Dorian only had a wait of two days before Maura had the cape ready and in his hands to admire. He thanked her richly, paying double what she asked and making sure the cooks would send her a nice meal tonight.

He could hardly believe the woman's talent, running his fingers over the inner lining where she had layered gauzy metallic gold on top of luxurious black fur. It complemented his ring perfectly, the same sense of a million stars in a deep void of a night's sky.

The cape had a thick, snuggly collar and hood, with three closures down the front, made of gold wire, woven into intricate knots. There were slits in the sides, with panels made of a stretchy material, so that when you needed your arms out of the cape, you retained mobility while preventing a draft into the body of the cape.

Dorian had collected a sheet of blood red cambric and wrapped the mead and necklace within the cloak, and then the cloak within the cambric before sitting at his writing desk. Pulling a quill, parchment and his favorite blue ink he began to write his response letter to Cullen.

_Dear Cullen,_  
_The ring is stunning, I've worn it since I first opened the package, it's certainly gorgeous, and inspired one of my gifts to you. Hopefully, you can tell which one. I jest, of course, but I do hope you take kindly to the things I've chosen to send you, and that you adore them as much as I adore my presents. I wish you a speedy and hassle-free voyage here, and hope you are excited about the banquet, don't fear, as you are assured two days' and nights' rest before you must mingle with stuffy nobility and the like._  
_I should warn you we are expected to dance, and though I am not the owner of two left feet, I cannot lead a ballroom dance. Please journey safely._  
_Your betrothed,_  
_D.Pavus_

Dorian smiled at the letter and with a sigh of finality, sealed it with a little magic so that his sweeter scent of flowers and baked goods would infuse just as strongly as Cullen's scent lingered in the letter Dorian now kept under his pillow.

He tied the package together with a strong vine from the garden and walked it down to the library where he knew Josephine, the record keeper, could get it on the quickest route to Ferelden.  
  
Now, he just had to wait three days, and his betrothed would be here come nightfall.  
\---------------------------------------------------------

Dorian never knew just how bored he truly could get until now. Sat up in his room, sitting in the window and staring into the dim evening. They'd received word from a messenger that the Rutherford party had reached Tevinter lands and that their journey would take at most 3 hours to reach the castle.

It had been two and a half hours according to the timekeeper in Dorian's bedroom. The sun had set but it was just light enough to see outside, aided by the soft glow of magic flames in the sconces on the wall beneath his window.

After a moment, he realized the ambient noise of the night was getting louder, and Cole confirmed his suspicions from the corner of the room.

"They've entered the interior gate." Dorian breathed in heavily and smiled as best he could in the mirror before urging Cole with him and making his way out of his wing and down to the main steps of the castle where he could hear a crowd gathering.

Horses whinnied and huffed as the row of beaten but well kept carriages came to a halt. A sudden hand fixing his hair startled him and he turned to meet his mother's encouraging eyes, before gesturing him down the steps.

He nodded to her, and his father, drawing strength from Cole's very slight nod as he glided down the stairs with all the grace he could muster, in his best clothes, his long silk tunic flowing behind him, hair hanging shiny, with intricate braids around his temples.

Nervousness fluttered in his gut while he watched the first carriage open, but three women of varying ages stepped out and were chattering amongst themselves. Dorian bit his lower lip and turned to the second carriage, but the door had not opened, and it was too dark for him to see into the windows. The third carriage revealed a boy slightly younger than himself, helping an even younger girl out.

Dorian's brow drew in uneasiness, before the middle carriage's door nearly flew open and a tittering old fellow stepped out with the help of the driver. He seemed agitated, but Dorian couldn't hear what he was saying to whoever was in the carriage.

Then his lungs felt empty as he watched a young man hop from within, boots landing firmly in the mud, with enough force that suggested under his clothes this man, who must be Cullen, was built of solid muscle. When he didn't appear in any sense wide of the waist, but his arms nicely filled out the sleeves of the long-sleeved shirt he wore, with simple trousers, and a long vest over top everything.

Dorian noticed that everyone from both families and the crowd of people from the kingdom was staring straight at him. He swallowed hard and descended the last few step, careful to keep his clothing from grazing the mud.

The young man said something furiously under his breath to his father, obvious now by their similar looks, though differing with age. He began to walk towards Dorian and kept his gaze around the young prince's neck until they were about three feet apart.

Dorian's first observation of Cullen's face was that his eyes were just as unique as his own, it seemed, perfectly contrasting his own silver irises, the soldier's were an astounding gold.

Cullen looked constipated, if he were to be blunt, and looked reluctant as he held out his hand to Dorian, stiff and formal.

"You must be the Pavus heir." Cullen had a deep, smooth voice that was a thousand times better than the high, nasally voice of Dorian's nightmares. The prince drew his posture up and extended his hand to firmly but cautiously clasp Cullen's. There was something off here, and he couldn't get a sense of it.

"Yes, Dorian Pavus, and you must be Cullen." Dorian noticed the other wasn't shaking his hand, or really returning the grasp, so he slowly let go and brought his hand back to his side.

"So you knew?" Cullen looked confused and frustrated and Dorian felt the emotions mirrored in his whole being.

"I beg your pardon, as it's late and I must be slow at the moment, but knew what exactly?" Dorian looked at the Rutherford family, and noticed the youngest three, assumably Cullen's siblings, looked just as confused, yet the elder three, Cullen's parents and an Aunt perhaps, looked, if anything, guilty.

Turning around brought a surprising sight, seeing that guilt mirrored on his parents' faces. Even more curious, perhaps, was the cold fury in Cole's eyes directed towards the king and queen.  
Dorian gave him a questioning glance as Cullen began to speak, through clenched teeth at Dorian.

"They only referred to you as The Heir Pavus. I was led to believe that my betrothed was a princess, or rather, no one informed me you were, in fact, male, and I was allowed to dimly come to the wrong conclusion."

Dorian felt like someone had pulled the very ground out from beneath his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm horribly sorry my sons


	3. Apples

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings at end notes

"So you... prefer the company of other men... or boys?" Cullen spoke haltingly with a red tinge in his cheeks as he avoided Dorian's gaze, actually, Dorian's entire form.

Last night was entirely uncomfortable, and Dorian's face still showed evidence of hours of crying himself to sleep. The prince was entirely too used to the disgust towards his preferences, but hearing it in the voice and seeing it in the eyes of the man he was meant to marry sent him into a fit.

After some tense, civil introductions, Dorian excused himself in a crushed voice, escaping with Cole following behind him, trying to speak kindly of Cullen in that awkward way only the spirit could. Dorian thanked him and asked the spirit to watch his dreams for the night, to which Cole reluctantly agreed.

Cole had the fantastic power to block the subconscious in a sleeping person but expressed in the past how he had observed in the past that dreams and nightmares often helped a person sort their feelings.

The problem, though, was that Dorian felt nothing, as he idly forked at the food on his plate, even the sweet blackberries of the end of summer, one of his favorite fruits, wasn't appealing to him at all.

He had tensed when Cullen spoke, their first conversation since their revelation the last night. His nose wrinkled and he frowned towards the blonde.

"Yes and? What if I do? Does it sour your pure Southern soul?" Dorian asked with as much sarcasm as he could muster, but his voice sounded hollow.

Cullen finally lifted his head from his own plate to look over Dorian, noting the sorry state of his intended's face, it sunk a rock in his stomach that he tried to dispel with a sip of water.

"I'd hold no ill intent towards you for your preferences." Cullen's voice was hardly louder than a murmur and Dorian found himself straining to hear the man across the table.

They were alone, eating in the south tea room, the closest to Dorian's wing, well, now their wing.

"But you do hold ill intent towards me?" Dorian cast his suspicious gaze towards the soldier before finally feeling a small surge of hunger, beginning to separate out the slices of apple on his plate, shoving them to the edge.

Cullen watched with a raised eyebrow, swallowing a bite of cured pork.

"I wouldn't call it ill intent..."

"You already did."

"I," Cullen floundered, "I will admit I hold... _feelings_ towards magic."

"And yet you agree to marry a mage? Or did they not tell you that either? Did you assume you'd get the one non-magic member of the tevinter royalty?" Dorian viciously speared a raspberry and relished in the burst of flesh and juice in his mouth, pettily wishing that it was some appendage of Cullen's instead.

Cullen's jaw visibly clenched at the way he was being spoken to but forced himself to stay calm, knowing his withdrawals made him irritable.

"You'll forgive me for being tentative towards a power I watched kill many men I called friends." Cullen's voice was harsh until the last word where it cracked, crumbled, and ended in a choke.

Dorian looked up, breakneck, at the sound, eyes soft with concern. He hated that, no matter how much he was angry with someone, an aching soul called to his own and his overt empathy reared its vicious head.

"Then you'll forgive me," Dorian spoke gently, as if to a startled creature, "If I say I would cast to the depths every person involved in starting the conflict if they weren't already dead."

Cullen made a small sound, dry, strained amusement, before lifting his gaze to find the Prince's.

Dorian would deny his heart clenching at the sincere hope, mixed with the pain of witnessing war from such a young age, that made the soldier's eyes just a touch wetter than usual.

Cullen seemed to shake himself and cleared his throat, then with an agility, Dorian wasn't prepared for, swept the apple slices off the edge of the prince's plate.

Dorian gaped, lips parted enough for an indignant sound to spill out.

"You could have asked!"

Cullen looked at him with a wry smirk, popping one slice into his mouth then tucking it in his cheek to speak.

"Were you going to eat them?"

Dorian spluttered, grasping for a rebuttal and only drawing a blank.

Cullen looked smug. Dorian huffed and slumped in his chair, pointedly looking out the window with a pout on his lips.

He could hear Cullen, a little breathy laugh after he swallowed what was in his mouth.

"Why do you not like apples?"

Dorian shrugged, nose upturned, "Who said I didn't like them?"

"You were looking at them as though they had lit fire to that barely decent top of yours."

Dorian turned back to the blonde to glower at him before grumbling and looking down at his shirt.

"Damn you conservatives, there's nothing wrong with my shirt!"

Admittedly it was loose and low in the back, and you could completely see his chest from the sides, but it was getting warm and the breeze never seemed enough to cool his skin through any layer of material, and so he adapted, the more skin showing the more comfortable he was in the heat.

Cullen had merely raised a brow before waving one of the juicy slices.

"Tell me why you don't like them... Please?"

Dorian frowned, as he really didn't want to explain his fairly recent aversion to the fruit.

He also didn't know how to explain it to Cullen, without making everything even more uncomfortable.

"I don't want to talk about it, why should I? If I don't eat them, you'll obviously eat them instead."

Cullen nodded slightly, "Yes, but why don't you just inform the cook you don't like them?"

Dorian sighed before covering his face with his hands, abandoning decorum and pulling his knees to his chest in the chair.

"Because I liked them until recently, and Krem is just as bloody nosy as you are."

Cullen frowned and pushed his empty plate to the side so he could lean his elbows on the table, voice soothing and gentle in its curiosity.

"So what changed?"

_Damn him_ , Dorian would pay the man to talk if he could, if only to listen to his voice.

The young prince fidgeted and the silence grew in the room, broken by a shaky exhale when Dorian let his head fall back on the chair, staring at the rafters.

"I... This marriage... My father has been trying for over a year to find a nice lady of high standing for me to marry."

Cullen made a curious sound as if he was about to ask a question, but Dorian shut him up with a glare.

"He doesn't approve of the way I am, to say the least. Forbade it, nearly banished me and stripped my title for it. He was willing to-," Dorian hissed through his teeth and wiped roughly at his eyes, gesturing vaguely in the air.

The screech of a chair had him tensing, but the footsteps that steadily made their way to his side of the table weren't angry or hurried like his father's when he came to strike him.

Peeking between his fingers he saw Cullen leaning his hip on the table, within a foot of his chair's armrest. The soldier smiled, a little sad, but encouraging none the less.

Dorian sniffed and lowered his arms to hug his torso, looking up at the elder before closing his eyes and speaking as slowly and clearly as he could. He didn't want to repeat this.

"There is a way... In theory that my... disposition, could be corrected. Through awful magic, that warps your blood and changes your brain. My father, he tried this, though it failed."

Cullen stayed silent, standing stiffly, watching this young man, barely not a boy, having suffered so harshly by the hand meant to nourish and protect him.

"He assumed, though, it had worked, at first... Until he caught me, and the old gardener, we weren't even that... involved, merely finding comfort in one another's physicality. Halward found us under an apple tree, he ordered me inside, then broke the man's legs as I watched from the window."

Dorian suddenly couldn't take the pressure, like the entire castle was pressing on his chest.

Breathing shallowly he stood suddenly and started making his way to the door, wanting to find Cole, to find a way to escape the panic building in him.

Before he could take more than a few steps a warm hand landed on his bare shoulder giving him pause. Cullen slowly turned him around and gripped his upper arms, tight enough to anchor him in the moment, but in no way hurtful.

"I am sorry, Dorian, that I made you relive this, I should have stopped pressing when you grew reluctant."

Dorian's harsh, bitter bark of laughter jolted his body. He fought the urge to drop his head onto the Soldier's strong shoulder. Wanting nothing more than to curl up in the strong arms and cry until he no longer felt like puking.

Cullen's fingers squeezed once, then he let his arms drop to his sides, but didn't back away head tilted slightly down to look at Dorian's face so close.

"Earlier this morning, I ran into your Mother, and she explained that the unused rooms at the end of your wing have been renovated and that we will be expected to move into them before three days."

Dorian cleared his throat and nodded, "I'm aware, my things are mostly packed. I can acquire an extra bed without causing a controversy if that's what you are leading up to."

Cullen wrinkled his nose slightly but sighed and put a hand over his face.

"Aren't we expected to consummate the marriage in that bed?"

Dorian looked frustrated suddenly and turned tail to walk out of room briskly. Leaving a confused and slightly worried Cullen behind, the soldier following like a lost puppy only moments later.

He caught up to Dorian as the young prince shoved open the doors to the royal office, where his father sat high on an ornate chair, scribe and political advisor on either side of him.

"Is the not a way to work around the clause of consummation in the marriage agreement?" Dorian asked in a huff.

Cullen, eyes wide behind him, nervously bowed to the king. He lifted his head only to stare at Dorian.

The king looked put upon by the question, shifting in his chair to stare down his son with an air of authority.

"We've gone over this before, this is why you are marrying a man, what is the problem?"

Dorian bared his teeth, "The man you wish me to marry is straight, father, and I will _not_ be fucked by an unwilling partner."

Cullen heard a gasp from one of the women at the front of the room, but his eyes stayed on Dorian next to him, not even daring a glance anywhere near the king.

"Mind your tongue boy." Halward stood and descended upon his son, causing the hairs at the nape of Cullen's neck to stand on end.

The crowned prince and the king stared at each other before Halward gripped his son, in the same manner Cullen had just minutes ago, but the soldier could tell by the way Dorian's skin whitened around the harsh fingers, and his face pinched, Halward was doing this with full strength.

"You will do what is expected of you or be by the maker, I will toss you out like a stray regardless of your mother's pleas. You have been accommodated with a male to wed, you will consummate the marriage to fortify the bonds and you _will not speak of this matter again_."

Dorian was released, stumbling backwards, the handprints on his arms already pooling red. Halward turned his eyes onto Cullen and the soldier tensed.

With a sneer, the king looked him up and down, "Close your eyes and pretend he's a girl for all I care, you already signed the bonds, you're bound to this on your life."

Cullen nodded stiffly at his majesty and turned to Dorian, who had curled in on himself and had his own hands squeezing his arms where's his father's had just been.

When the prince turned and began to walk out of the royal office, Cullen followed after him, eager to get away from the fearsome king.

The soldier was led to an unfamiliar part of the castle, where it was dark and damp but still above ground. Dorian taking sure steps into the pitch black before stopping in his tracks, seeming to recall something.

Wordlessly, the mage produced two hovering balls of yellow light, one staying near his shoulder and the other moving to hover around Cullen, illuminating the hall.

There were old tapestries and portraits, paint faded and some of the canvases ripped, the threads pulled, and ink blurring into an unrecognizable blob.

Dorian started moving again and Cullen followed a little more comfortably now that he could see where he was stepping.

They came to a dead end and Dorian turned right, into a wall, before vanishing.

"Dorian?" Cullen asked, startled.

He walked to the wall and tentatively put a hand against the stone, mesmerized when his fingers slid right through the glamour.

A hand curled around his own and tugged him through the rest of the way. The soldier stumbling into Dorian before looking around and noticing they were at the far end of the prince's wing, where their new nuptial chambers were.

"Gather your things and put them in the room, the light wood furniture is yours, the dark is mine. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Uh... Okay?"

Cullen blinked as he watched the other walk into his room down the hall before following suit into the guest chambers he was allotted and dragging his trunk from in front of the bed and lifting it with a strained sound, beginning to waddle-walk the trunk into the hallway.

He was met with the sight of Dorian, bruised arms lifted like a conductor as neat rows of luggage and bags floated behind him.

The prince saw Cullen struggling and slightly rolled his eyes before reaching his magic to lift the trunk from the soldier's stunned form, adding it to the array behind him.

"Open the doors please." His voice sounded scratchy and hollow like it had early this morning and Cullen's heart plummeted as he did what was requested. Watching Dorian lead their possessions into the shared space.

It seemed any progress they had made was ruined. Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, then closed the doors behind himself as he stepped into the room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> child abuse  
> Dorian fighting his depression  
> a brief description of violence stemming from homophobia


End file.
